


Tin Man

by CyanideCherub



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Friendship, Post-Canon, References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), mando being hunted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25953172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideCherub/pseuds/CyanideCherub
Summary: After escaping Nevarro - Mando gets into a dog fight and ends up crash landing on a small planet in the outer-rim. Where he meets you. A little snippet about Mando learning to trust.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Tin Man

**Author's Note:**

> OH BOY IT'S BEEN A WHILE. I'm now thirsty after Mando. So while this is light and fluffy please expect some gratuitous smut at a later date.

He's a man with three names. A faceless figure, a lonely entity travelling across the galaxy to pay a debt of life until he draws his last. Those who fear him call him The Mandalorian. It's a title and a mantle. A creed on the brink but courageous and unwavering none the less. They whisper it, as they cower on a remote rock at the edge of the outer rim. Yell, as they notice the glimmer of the unmistakable helm walking towards them with silent determination. His title trembles from their terrified mouths, battered and bruised as his quarries offer tithes and bribes, promises of a life of riches if only he – Just. Let. Them. Go. An indistinguishable grunt is all he offers, we all pay our dues. This is the way.

Some call him Mando. It's spoken with familiarity, contempt. They think they know him well enough to accost him with a nickname. They believe because they require his services, that makes them safe from his ire. Some laugh, call him friend, or partner, slapping him fondly on the back of the shoulder, all the while watching cautiously as he leaves, a nervous tick in the corner of their eyes wondering if they'll become his next bounty. They imagine themselves serving time, petrified and stuck in their own minds in his terrifying carbonite jail. He keeps quiet, indiscriminate, that fear serves him well. 

His third name is a treasure, known by few. It travels with him through the galaxy like star dust, dying silently as it travels unspoken in the lonely void of space. Only to spark and shimmer in warm explosion of light as it dances across your lips. Din... He chokes back a barrage of feelings when you repeat back to him. The last people to speak that name, who gave him that identity are gone, another casualty of a war that claimed the lives of millions. He's not sure why he told you. You were a stranger, an unknown – but you and yours took them in, kept them fed, gave them a room and fixed the Razor Crest. He felt like this was a way to repay that debt.

The Mandalorian protested at first – his stay is unnecessary, dangerous. Him and the child were being hunted and you disarm him with a smile and a soft laugh, the planets sun bouncing light of your cheeks through a deep set canopy.

_The real danger is on the idiots that venture into my home with the intent to harm. Relax, Bounty Hunter. Your clan is safe here._

The Child lets out a high pitched giggle from his silver cradle and it seems as though it's decided this is their hiding place – for the time being.

You're from a small planetoid, it has no name, but locally known as Arbor. It's made up of dense forests and rocky crags with one port and a few sparse holdings across it's terrain. You and your father live like hermits, in a small dome like homestead covered in moss and flora and surrounded by a few cattle of some variety. You saw the Razor Crest bombing through the atmosphere, pieces of metal flaking off and burning as it flew through the sky. As you reached the smoking, charred hull you saw him – covered in metal dints, soot and the fabric of his cloak drenched from the monsoon rains. The Mandalorian is reluctant, he's stoic, guarded, and wary of your intent.

_We can help you repair your ship._

A grunt. **No thanks.** He smacks a panel with a silent rage.

_What about a dry roof over your head until the monsoon stops?_

**No.**

You shrug, as you rest against your walking stick, the light attached glowing softly. Your eye catches something small at the opening of the ship. _Then how about you come with me and we can feed your kid?_

With a sense of exasperation, The Mandalorian follows you in the rain. You lead him through the valley to your home, and the small guest house, watching him assess and postulate dangers like wild animal on it's haunches. Your father greets the new guests and finds extra plates and spoons for dinner.

_Get settled, do your perimeter walk if needs be, I'll be back in a little while with dinner. I'll also bring some extra blankets and some logs for the fire. My dad can help you get your ship fixed tomorrow._

The man is surprised at your lack of fear – it's new to him and you're either cocky or stupid. **Wait.** He calls as you leave. **Don't you know what I am?**

You lean against the door frame, watching his tilted helmet with a matter of fact _Yeah? And?_

The man's huff is broadcasted in a tinny warble. **Doesn't that bother you? Or why I'm here?**

Your laugh quickly warms the inside of his helmet. _It was pure fluke, I saw you crashing through the atmosphere and landing in our neighbours backyard. I'm helping – it's what we do. You're not so scary, Tin Man._

The man is affronted, almost embarrassed. He tries to assert some that fear that he's expects of the people around him. The modulator cracks as he speaks. A warning. **You have no idea what I'm capable of.**

You take a step closer, watching your own reflection in the visor. _Likewise. Besides, if your kid isn't scared. I see no reason to be._ You point at the small green bundle with oversized ears, twitching as he sleeps soundly by the bed. Tiny squeaks escaping his mouth as he dreams.

He watches you through the night, observing as you and your old man take shifts in a crows nest, practically hidden in the canopy if it weren't for the embedded tech in his helmet. He hears one blaster shot, muffled, in the distance and then sleeps soundly with his blaster resting against his chest.

Your father leaves for the port on a small personal speeder, leaving you with the Bounty Hunter and his charge. He spends the week watching over his shoulder and being agitated at your ability to get under his Beskar, being respectful of his creed and down-right disrespectful at the same time. You never forced him to eat with you, gave him his space to look after his boy and check his surroundings. Never questioned his appearance, the arsenal of weapons at his disposal or the reason he was on the run.

_We all have things we're running from, Tin Man._

**It's steel, and, thank you – for not prying.**

You shrug with nonchalance and throw him a pail. _C'mon if we want milk we'd better get milking, Tin Man._

There are things the Mandalorian notices. Like the crows nest, or the ship in the barn, the EMP disruptors on the edge of the farm's perimeter. Or the fact there is some form of clone-war era blaster or pulse rifle in every concealed place he can see. Your words rumble in his skull. _We all have things we're running from_. Then he shakes them, it's not his place to pry.

Soon your Father returns, with a bundle of parts and a worried look on his tired face. Imps, in town – a lot them. He doesn't think he was followed but then again you can never be too sure. You spend the night in the crows nest, scope to your eye, scouting the trees for danger. The Mandalorian hears three shots that night, and he doesn't sleep.

In the morning, just as you're preparing breakfast he confronts you. **Last night...**

_It's sorted. Don't worry._ But he can see the fatigue and hear the way you draw the words out.

Din doesn't know how to be soft. He doesn't really know how to react to kindness beyond absolute loyalty and due diligence – but he tries. **I appreciate the help from you and your Father but it's time for us to move on. I want you to have this.** He places a coin pouch on the table. **To cover your losses. Don't worry – it's new Republic.**

You make a face at the money.

**Is it not suitable?**

_No...it's not the money. I've just enjoyed the company. I'll miss it._

You can hear a rumble through the vocoder **It has been an unexpected... but a welcome break for the kid.**

_Just the kid?_

An explosion erupts through the canopy and can be seen through the kitchen window, a violent collusion of orange and red against the plush green of the forest.. His training kicks in and he reaches for his blaster as he tears through the house to rush the guest house for the kid and his gear. You're right behind him, resolute with a blaster held high scouting the edge of brush for that tell tale glint of white.

The Mandalorian puts the kid in the crib and seals it tight, promising him it'll be alright. When turns with pulse blaster in arms you can see the coiled tenseness in his stance, the adrenaline pumping, he'd done this dance before.

_I'll get you back to your ship. My dad down is in the valley, air-tightening the shell._

The Mandalorian simply nods.

There is an unease to forest. Silence. You move quickly through the rivulets and natural bridleways. An Imperial speeder dashes at the edge of your eye-line, headed in the same direction as the Razor Crest. Pulling the scope to your eye, you line a little ahead, take a deep breath, and squeeze. The rider slumps, and the speeder pelts into a tree exploding on impact. The silence is replaced by confusion and you tell the Mandalorian to run as you offer a diversion. He's conflicted, he's not a coward – that is not the way of the creed, but he has the little one to worry about. There is a troupe of Stormtroopers headed back to where their comrade fell, guns held high and squawking like chickens as they scour the treeline for the shooter.

_Go. I'll follow. Make sure my Dad is okay._

He reluctantly agrees and flanks the Stormtroopers, watching as you drop them like flies. Not giving them the chance to return fire.

He makes it to the Razor Crest, taking out the stragglers from another one-sided gun fight. Blaster held high, your Father emerges from the inside of the hull. Dazed and bloody, but alive. He asks for you, grabbing on the Mandalorian by the armour and demanding why he left you.

**That is what they asked. I was to find you and ensure your safety.**

**_You stupid boy! I'm the son of a clone trooper – war is in my blood! That is not the life I wanted for my child!_ **

The pieces click for the Mandalorian. The Imperials weren't just here for him. No, they were still hunting down the remnants of a time long gone. They must have seen the old man at the port and scanned him. Capturing both a Mandalorian and a failed experiment at the same time would mean a big reward for the solider brave enough to take them on.

**_Move out of my way, I'll find them myself._ **

But before he takes the step, you emerge into the crash – made clearing. Sweat on your brow, huffing like you'd just run a marathon.

_Calm down old man, I'm fine. I told the Tin Man to find you. Good thing too, looks like you were struggling._

Your father huffs. _You cheeky pup, I took out more than you._

The Mandalorian looks to the trees, the thermals in his helmet detect more on their way. **More are coming. I need to get the kid out of here.** He taps on the bracer and the crib floats into the hull.

**_Then get out of here._** Your father chides as he tries to straighten himself, readying for a second wave. _**But do me one favour, Mandalorian. Take my child too. Save them from this. Take them from this rock and find them somewhere safe.**_

_Dad...no... I can't leave you._

He looks at you, placing a comforting arm against your shoulder, relishing the memory of this final touch. **_I always knew they would find me. It was just a matter of time. I even look like them._** He points to the angular, rich features; unmistakably that of a clone. _**But you don't have to have this life. Do I have your word, Mandalorian?**_

The Mandalorian thought money would be payment enough, but the man behind it knew this was the way. **Yes. You have my word. I'll keep them safe.**

Your Dad sags slightly in relief. **_Good. Now go._** You press your brow to his as the Mandalorian grabs you by the wrist, pulling you away from your life and your family.

You don't speak another word as the pressurised door closes and as the final image of the man who raised you imprints on your memory. The ship rattles as it's thrusters come online and you leave the atmosphere. Your eyes tear as the implications hit you – raw emotion boils over and you collapse to the deck, crying out in grief. Once you hit hyper-space, the man stands nearby waiting patiently until you can process what happened.

_What now Tin Man?_ You say after a while, watching as tiny clawed hands pull at your tunic in sympathy. You don't turn to him, just focus on the soft, mewls of the little green alien who is desperate to be held. Picking him up with one arm and rubbing at your puffy eyes with the other.

He says something. You didn't quite pick it up. You turn and he repeats himself with a tinny clearing of his throat.

**It's Din. My name is Din.**

He folds his arms and you give him something resembling a smile.

_Well, Din._ You say as you get to your feet, his child in your arms. _I guess that's a start. But I think I'll stick with Tin Man, for now._

He was a man with three names. The Mandalorian, Mando, and Din. They brought fear, respect and pain. In his arsenal he now carries a fourth, it speaks of friendship and kinship. It speaks of unpredictability and the ever-changing pace of life. It speaks to him. _Tin Man._


End file.
